


May Nothing But Death Do Us Part

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: (of hypothetical gunshot wounds), Dissociation, Graphic Description, Gunplay, M/M, bad trigger discipline, deepthroating a desert eagle...with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11233773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: “Oh, she is a beauty,” he whispered, trailing a gloved fingertip around the large, shiny muzzle.Kaz and Ocelot do some testing.





	May Nothing But Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> All my thanks to Arienai for helping my civvie scrub ass with the gun stuff!

Ocelot looked up from the gun he was reloading when he heard the familiar staccato of Miller’s limping approaching.

It sounded a tiny bit different. Slightly different posture, an extra chink of metal and buckles on leather.

He grinned, just as the Commander turned the corner and appeared at the edge of the small edge of the command platform they’d elected as officers shooting range.

“Did you get it?”

Miller grunted, dropping in one of the chairs against the wall. “Yeah.”

Ocelot resisted the urge to bounce as he stepped closer. “Show me, come on.”

Miller sighed, but a tiny rueful grin was pulling at the corner of his lips. He was happy, too.

He reached under his coat, and after the quick click of a push button, he was drawing the new sidearm they’d worked with R&D the better part of the month to develop.

“Oh, she is a beauty,” he whispered, trailing a gloved fingertip around the large, shiny muzzle. “Comfortable, too?”

“Best gun I’ve ever held, to be honest.”

And rightfully so. Not only the basic design was lifted wholesale from those new Desert Eagle guns that were all the rage back in the US, with its attractive triangular muzzle and long, notched barrel; it had been heavily customized to make it easy and comfortable for Miller to shoot with his left hand. The polished ironwood grip made it even heavier, lowering the sizeable recoil of a .50 gas-operated semi-automatic. More than enough to put a few holes into anything despite the fact that even with two hands, Miller had never been more than a passable shot.

The crisp steel shone in the afternoon sun that was beating over them, and made Ocelot’s mouth water.

“Show me.”

Miller put the weapon away in his new holster - which seemed to be hanging a little too low and loose, as far as Ocelot was concerned - and got up, limping towards the table. They only had two lanes, and nothing fancy, but it was worth it for the privacy. Miller shrugged off his coat and laid it down along with his crutch. Bounced a little in place, testing his balance. Drew the brand new sidearm, adjusted his stance, aimed, and shot.

The particle board target 50 yards away lost half of its head in a spray of sawdust. Miller did not topple over as he usually did with most weapons, but stood his ground.

Ocelot whistled low. “Nice.”

Miller emptied the rest of the magazine into the target. Only one shot fully missed, out of seven. He released the empty magazine with a flick of the wrist, stuck the gun barrel-first under his stump, and slammed in a fresh magazine he fished out of his pocket. Then he finally re-holstered it.

“Pretty good,” conceded Ocelot when Miller glanced over, looking for approval. “How’s the recoil?”

“Pretty strong, but more focused towards my chest. I never feel like I’m going to fall on my ass.” He pressed the button closed clumsily. “I’ll feel it in my elbow tomorrow if I shoot more than this, but...”

“The chances of you needing to are pretty slim at the moment,” finished Ocelot, stepping closer. “This holster is all wrong, though. May I?”

Miller turned around to lean against the table. “Sure.”

Ocelot moved the holster and gun closer to the center of Miller’s body. “It’s a waste of time and energy to make you reach all the way to your other side.” He tightened the strap, reaching around Miller’s waist to adjust it across his back.

He did not miss the subtle shift of his body as he accommodated his presence close to him. He never missed that. It was his favorite thing.

He took his hand and brought it up between their bodies and onto the smooth wooden grip. “See? You can reach a lot more comfortably.”

Miller thumbed the latch open, and drew the gun without much struggle at all. He smiled, and then rested the barrel against Ocelot’s jaw, slowly tracing it up to his ear with the muzzle. It was still warm, and the brushed metal was incredibly smooth on his skin. “Yeah, this is much better.”

Ocelot smiled, shifting ever so slightly closer. “If you plan to shoot my brains out, you should probably cock it, first.”

Miller dragged the muzzle down Ocelot’s jaw again, pointing it under his chin to push his head up. Then he cocked it. Ocelot felt the bullet being loaded into the chamber, vibrating thickly into the soft flesh of his underchin.

“This is not a good place to shoot,” breathed Ocelot. “You might slip. It will blow my jaw clean off, though.”

“It is quite attractive to shut you up forever.”

“I’d lose a strong asset to our work relationship, though.”

“Mm. Good point.” Miller pushed the gun around, pressing the muzzle right on Ocelot’s lips.

Ocelot raised an eyebrow.

Miller smiled, slow and predatory.

Ocelot parted his lips, mouthing the thick muzzle slowly. The burned carbon tingled on his tongue when he licked the hole carefully.

Miller shook his head.

Then he used his prosthetic leg to kick Ocelot’s legs out from under him.

Obviously he didn’t manage, but Ocelot dropped to the floor to make it look like he had. Lord only knew Miller’s ego was already fragile as it was.

Miller pressed the muzzle to Ocelot’s hairline, slowly dragging it down to the middle of the forehead. “How about here?”

“You’d be surprised how hard the front of the skull is.” He raised his hands to squeeze Miller’s knees. “While it will more than likely disfigure me, perhaps even kill me by sheer concussive force, it might ricochet back to you. I don’t think it’s worth it to lose your balls for this.”

“This is a .50,” breathed Miller. “Not one of the pea shooters I’ve been carrying. Not even your hard head can reflect this.”

Ocelot grinned. “But do you really want shards of my skull embedded all over your nice suit?”

The weapon was heavy down the bridge of his nose. Smelled acrid and smoky with propellant, and Ocelot swallowed and closed his eyes to allow the cooling muzzle to rest against his closed lid.

“Ever wanted to match with him?”

Ocelot chuckled. “That was just muzzle flash. If I’d shot him point blank like this, he’d be long dead.”

“Perhaps you should’ve.”

“Would’ve saved us both a lot of trouble,” he admitted, thumbing the inside of Miller’s thighs through his thick pants. “On the other hand, we would have never met.”

“I can’t even imagine how happy I’d be,” grunted Miller, lying through his teeth as always.

“We might be in a bit too deep for ifs and perhaps,” he muttered, just before Miller tilted the gun sideways and shoved half the barrel in his mouth.

Ocelot swallowed laboriously, his jaw popping as Miller slid the barrel back. It was large and unyielding, tasted like metal and charcoal, and it made Ocelot painfully hard. Drool trailed down the sides of his mouth. The sights clipped his lip on the way out.

Miller was smiling as he wiped the spit beaded on the barrel on Ocelot’s cheek.

Ocelot swallowed. The hot tarmac was biting into his knees.

The muzzle was back against his mouth. He opened it, let Miller slide his weapon back in, licked the warm metal into his mouth, worked his lips over the deep, sharp notches in the barrel. Swallowed as much as he could with a hard, unforgiving piece of steel nudged against the back of his throat.

“This is the best way to shoot you,” said Miller quietly. “It will blow your head inside out. If you’re lucky, pulverize your brainstem, maybe sever your brain right off your spine. If you aren’t, well.” He flicked the safety off, and his smile widened. “I’d enjoy watching you choke on your own brain for a while.”

Ocelot’s heart hitched in his chest. Of course Miller would not shoot him for real. They were just playfighting, like they always did. But the gun was loaded, and live, and Miller was right: if he shot, Ocelot was dead.

He swallowed. His saliva was thick and acid.

“You’d let me?” whispered Miller.

Of course not. He was still holding onto his knees. One pull and Miller would be toppling over, and Ocelot was fast. But at the same time, Miller’s ungloved finger was hovering loosely over the trigger. One pull and there was a .50 bullet tearing through his brainstem.

Ocelot tried to control his breathing, but it was quickening anyway.

“You think I can’t do it?”

No. He knew he could do it. He’d seen him do it before. Not something he was glad to do, but a necessary act he had no qualms performing. It was part of the reason Ocelot was still at his side after all these years, because for all his saccharine sentimentality and emotional instability, he could still take aside a XOF mole he knew by first name and put a bullet in the back of his head.

Ocelot closed his eyes. A slight tremor was starting to tingle in his thighs.

“Would you let him?”

Ocelot’s breath caught in the muzzle of the sidearm, carbon coating the back of his throat. Was this much different than having hands that could kill without a thought around his throat, teeth like a bear trap digging through his lips?

He opened his eyes and tried to look over the gun obstructing his vision. Through his eyebrows, he could see Miller’s face above him. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted and shiny. He was enjoying this.

Ocelot wished he could see Miller’s eyes, but the only thing he could see in his aviators was himself, distorted and blurred, a pale shape impaled on dark metal.

Ten years ago. Hell, six, four years ago. Yes. He would not have hesitated. He would not have had the time to.

Now, Ocelot very slowly, very gently squeezed Miller’s whole knee as the whole world melted around them.

It felt like an hour had passed, but it was just the stretch of time between one vicious push of muzzle against his throat and the next.

The acrid gases were making his eyes water, his reflection blurrier in Miller’s sunglasses. Not a human shape anymore. Maybe never had been.

Ocelot’s jaw went slack entirely. Miller slid the thick barrel in and out, slick with his saliva. Ocelot calculated the amount of pressure he needed to break his knee, the angle he needed to lunge sideways to make it out alive, even if with perhaps less of a face.

Wondered if Miller would still kiss him if he lacked half of his jaw. Probably.

Did not move, however. Accepted the hard, deadly object shoved down his throat, let a prickle of tear trickle down his cheekbone.

Miller’s pushing was getting slightly erratic. Tired from standing a long time, but also aroused. Ocelot knew how Miller sounded when he was close, could almost taste the salty musk of his precome coating his tongue instead of metal and burning rubber, and it was more than enough to make him leak desperately in his pants.

“Tell me to stop,” gritted Milled through his teeth.

Ocelot could not remember how to speak. What anything but his mouth full of metal and Miller felt like. He didn’t want to die. He could only taste metal. See almost nothing. He needed to come, now, so close....

Time snapped back like a pulled elastic. The thunder of the gunshot deafened him, the ring of fire of the flash blinded him. Ocelot screamed, came, crushed Miller’s knees. The bullet grazed his shoulder, ricocheted off the tarmac, disappeared into the sea.

Ocelot couldn’t close his mouth. Grey, smoky saliva dripped on Miller’s shoes as he folded forward panting, nauseous and dizzy.

Miller flicked the safety and holstered the sidearm, hand shaking so hard he couldn’t button the strap. Slid to the ground in front of Ocelot with a weak laugh. “You crazy motherfucker.”

Ocelot tried to remember how to form words. He wasn’t scared, just a little....a bit...then Kaz pulled him closer and he crumpled into his empty shoulder, shuddering through shallow breaths. Kissed him blindly with a mouth that could only taste metal. Maybe shed a couple more tears. Maybe.

Miller did not let go until Ocelot had stopped shaking. Not that he needed it. But it was nice.

“That was some unconventional testing,” he finally croaked, his throat burning.

Miller was laughing when he punched him, ineffectually, in the back of the head. Ocelot was too.

Ocelot still didn’t want to die. And knew he would most likely have no say in the matter - but if he ever did?

He knew who he trusted to pull that last trigger.


End file.
